


Just Sleep

by Adverant



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Depends on your preference, Don't quote me on that, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I know right, Implied Antisepticeye, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Mental Breakdown, Not a ship-fic, Or AntiJack, Restless Character, Since when do those exist?, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adverant/pseuds/Adverant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has done literally nothing for days, but this is the first time in a long time he's really rested, the only time he really found solace in his dreams. Maybe it was just the lack of caffeine, or maybe... just maybe... it was the words of alleviation whispering in his ear.</p><p>"Please, please." The low voice begged of him, "Just sleep..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this is really short... but this was less for you all- and more for myself. I needed this, and for all I know somebody else might need it too.
> 
> -Vera

He was so glad to be home, to take off the bands on his wrist that only served to cause him more pain, but hid his deepest secret. His worries all took their place in a physical mark on his skin and somehow made the scar on his heart fade, it would be a relief if it weren't for the fact that every mark made his  _soul_  feel even more scarred- marred by his mistakes and every misgiving or wrong doing.

All he wanted was to tell the truth, to feel like an honest man, but all he could do was lie to everyone he came in contact with. It was a scary thing that he was always dishonest, he'd long since gotten tired of trying to convince himself it was necessary, that no one could understand it like he did and telling people would just leave him with unwanted labels. He didn't want help, he didn't want anything from anybody, but for once he didn't want to lie.

He could have done something long ago, poured his heart out into tumblr or posted some subtle hint on twitter- he knew one of his viewers or friends would pick something out of it and understand. He had meant to spill himself and his mind into a vlog, in fact he'd meant to do it so many times that in fact, it was the main point he had for almost every vlog. Unfortunately he lost whatever nerve it was he had and found himself saying "aaahm... dammit, I forget what else I wanted to talk about", when it wasn't the case at all.

He cried sometimes, reading the messages from people who called themselves his fans, because so badly did he want to tell them the truth.  _"I feel it too, god dammit I feel it too! You're not alone, I understand! God, and it hurts so much, I know, I know how much it does!"_ , instead he'd say  _"you can find hope, there are others out there who feel the same, you're not alone."_ which he knows is true, it's just not the kind of true he wants- he needs.

So instead of letting someone know, he suffers alone, in his room with his phone playing mobile games and reading his messages. It's not that he doesn't trust anybody, there are plenty of people he trusts that he's sure wouldn't judge him for this if he told them, he just didn't want the confrontation. What would he even say?

Either way it wasn't going to make a difference, he just had to tough it out, and live with the decisions he'd made to keep it all to himself. He took deep slow breaths and braced himself against the edge of his computer desk, trying to force his nerves to relax and allow him escape from his frazzled nerves that kept spiking into an irritable feeling. Everything seemed to rub him the wrong way, from the texture of his chair and the way it creaked slightly when he sat on it, to the very air that left his lungs.

It was frustrating to say the least, and the worst part is he felt he ought to be doing something, any way just to get  _something_ done. He wasn't sure what, and he certainly wasn't sure why, but it was as if it were engraved in his bones that he  _needed_ to be doing something and every second he just sat there at his computer not sure yet what to type in was another step further into his own personal hell.

He knew what he could do and he knew it would help- for now, but he was running from it. He was running from it like he was running to save his life and the truth was, that's exactly what he was doing, he was trying to save himself because  _he'd been so close_ to stopping it all. No, he was foolish, it would never stop and it didn't matter if he ran from himself for so long that he reached the edge of his mind and fell off. He would never be able to rest again.

It was like a constant state of emptiness, of being literally nothing, and yet he still had to run through the repetitive world he now knew as  _life_. Existing isn't the same as being alive, just as surviving isn't the same as living, and that was exactly what the world was to him. A struggle to take one step forward because every push, and every  _shove_ , sent him on a downward spiral, a backward stumble, and worst of all a relapse.

So he stopped persisting, he stopped trying to convince himself otherwise than his thoughts, he stopped believing that doing this would save him and that this was the only reason he was still more than a corpse six feet under. No, this would be the thing to bury him alive, not as a corpse but a living being struggling to live past the layers and layers of lifeless soil, a metaphor for the lies and the masks and the broken smiles.

He leaned himself forward and very, very slowly lowered himself to set his forehead gently on the desk, eyes unblinking as he stared at the pale wood under him. He couldn't keep doing this, letting it control him like this.  _He should have gotten help long ago_. At first he pretended maybe he was brave by taking it on his own, now he knew he wasn't strong because  _he didn't need help_  but he was a coward because he needed help and was too scared to admit he was so much more broken that he should have let himself be. _  
_

He made this stupid mistake by starting it, he was just curious he'd told himself, he knew it wouldn't help and he told others that all the time. The only problem was in the beginning it  _did_ help, but it was to be his doom, it was like a drug to him. In the beginning it's better than he could have thought, but the closer to the end he gets the worse it becomes until not only has it stopped  _helping_ , if it ever did help and didn't just mask it all, it started making things worse than they were before.

His thoughts were interrupted very abruptly by a sky blue light shining from his monitor over his desk and the nearby surfaces of his dim room, a tone sounding from his headphones sitting on the desk beside his head, he looked up to see someone was trying to call him on Skype. He should have checked who it was, he shouldn't have answered it as quickly as he did, it was almost like a second nature how quick he was to click the green accept call button.

Maybe he was so lonely that he needed a voice through it all, he was just so desperate for human communication through someone who would treat him like just another human being that it didn't matter who it was, he wasn't going to take a single second for his doubts- which there were many of.

Of course it was  _"The Heartthrob of Youtube"_ Mark himself that was calling him, and he felt regret and guilt wash over his entire body, a sick feeling settling in his gut and his expression falling into one of dread and fear. "Hey Jack!" Mark called, his voice full of energy and genuine happiness, Jack envied it. He didn't switch on his camera, and flailed for a second before trying to make his voice level and greeting Mark back, but his voice cracked of course the moment he tried to speak. _  
_

"Dude are you alright?" Mark asked quietly, the quizzical look on Mark's face making him panic slightly, and he said the first thing that came to mind. "I could be." He wasn't even sure what that meant himself, but it was all he had thought of that wasn't a  _total_ lie, it was too bad Mark didn't buy it for a second.

"What's going on with you Jack?" Mark asked, and continued before he could answer, "And I don't mean just now- I mean in general, for the past while you've been... off? I don't know, you're scaring me. You've been saying some weird shit, and I'm worried about you." He almost wanted to snap at him and say  _Oh, is that all?_ but he refrained, drumming his fingers on his desk a moment before he turned on his camera to let Mark see him, deciding maybe today was the day he would tell the truth.

There was the sound of a sharp intake of air, and Jack squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away. "I'm sorry." He whispered quietly, wrapping his arms around himself tightly and refusing to see Mark's reaction to what he'd turned into. "Jack?" He heard Mark's voice, sounding a bit lower that usual, and even a bit shaky as if he were on the edge of tears. "Jack, please don't be sorry." Mark's voice cracked at the end, and he slowly dragged his eyes over to the screen, the amount of concern and worry in his friend's eyes was frightening.

"I'm so tired Mark." He whispered, trying to look anywhere but at Mark's face on the screen, wincing at his own preview image on the Skype window. His skin was paler than he remembered, and had a yellow or greenish tint to it, making him look sick, and huge black bags were under his eyes, his lips chapped and split in some places and he subconsciously stuck his tongue out over them.

"Why don't you sleep?" He almost begged, staring at Jack with such an intensity he could practically feel it even just through a screen, and finally he looked to Mark. "I try, I really have been trying but if I sleep..." His voice started to tremble and he let out a breath, taking a deep inhale before trying to continue. "It gets into my mind- into my dreams, it won't let me sleep."

Mark blinked slowly, watching him and seemingly thinking something over. "Tell me the truth, Jack, please. Don't lie to me anymore." He practically begged, watching as Jack stared hard down at his desk, trying to think of what to say to that,  _what does he have to say that would be equivalent to the truth?_ He looked back up at Mark and decided to spill it all, all the dark corners of his mind and all the dreams, the  _nightmares_ , what he's been doing to himself and how he's been hiding it.

Absolutely everything, the story of how it started the story of how it ended- of how he refused to relapse to that again and how he was running from it, but it was constantly biting at his heals waiting for him to trip. Waiting for him to fuck up and waiting to consume him, and take everything he is and everything he believes in and tear it all apart from the inside, from inside his tainted mind.

When it was all out in the air, he held his breath. Silence fell, and neither said anything, watching each other with blank expressions, he could practically hear his heart beating loud in his ears. " _Jack_." Mark spoke, voice strong this time, but in an assuring kind of way. "You need to sleep. I promise, I promise it'll all be better but you can't keep running from yourself and your own mind. It just doesn't work like that, so I'm begging you, just sleep."

He almost panicked hearing that, but Mark's voice made it easier to hear what he already knew, made it more sure, made it more possible. "Please, please." The low voice begged of him, "Just sleep..." So he nodded to Mark, and without hanging up he took off his headphones and unplugged them, moving over to his bed which he lied down in, staring at the far wall before he closed his eyes, the only sound was his own breathing, and beyond that Mark's quiet humming.

Finally, after running so long, he stopped.

Finally, he found peace of mind.


End file.
